Blood on the Cheek
by Keynn
Summary: 'I owe you a lot,' said Shuuhei, 'but I know who I am.' -KenShuu


**Blood on the Cheek**

 _KenShuu_

* * *

Shuuhei will not look his captain in the eye. Kensei has noticed, but has wisely said nothing of it. It's better this way, thinks Shuuhei; it's better that they keep their distance. Kensei has Mashiro and Shuuhei has the newspaper and neither one cares to be betrayed again. It is better this way. Loyalty binds the division together; deceit keeps the senior officers separate.

The third seat brings Shuuhei a cup of tea and tells him that she is headed home for the day.

"See you tomorrow," says Shuuhei and, "please be careful on your way home; the snow is getting thicker."

"Likewise," says the third, she hesitates for a moment, then, "be well Vice Captain Hisagi, you look a bit haggard." Shuuhei bobs his head and waits until the door has shut firmly behind her before he sets his pen down and ruffles his hair. It is nearly seven, but there's nothing for him at home, there's nothing for him anywhere … Izuru, Shuuhei thinks, then stops. Izuru is asleep; Izuru sleeps a lot.

Shuuhei stacks his papers, puts his pen away, cleans the ink spills on his desk and grabs Kazeshini off the wall. The walk to the training rooms is cold and dark and miserable at best. Shuuhei doesn't care, Kazeshini is whispering black poetry somewhere far behind him and he barely hears it, even when he's trying to.

Each swing of his blade is half-hearted, each ball of kido is muted and pathetic. Every punch he throws resounds with a pitiful thunk, Shuuhei is not so sure practicing is the best idea.

Kensei's arms are crossed over his broad chest and he's leaned up against the doorframe of the practice room, glaring and muttering. Shuuhei can feel him and hear him and he's waiting for him to leave, but Kensei's been there for half an hour and looks to have gotten comfortable. Shuuhei wonders if it's a vizard thing to be able to maintain the same position for extended periods of time. He sees Shinji sitting in the front lawn of the fifth division looking out sometimes. He'll be there when Shuuhei goes to retrieved Momo for the vice captain meeting and he'll have not moved when they return an hour later.

"Captain Muguruma," says Shuuhei at last, he lowers Kazeshini and puts a hand on the wall in front off himself as a brace; he does not face Kensei.

"Shuuhei," says Kensei and says no more.

Shuuhei awkwardly goes through the motions of the the academy training regimen. It takes an hour, Kensei does not move. When he has finished, he sheathes Kazeshini and moves to leave.

The cut on Shuuhei's bicep is deep and painful and is already welling with blood. Shuuhei draws Kazeshini is one smooth motion and blocks Kensei as his zanpakuto moves toward the junction of his throat and collarbone. The doorframe is small and crowded and is much more suited to Kensei's weapon than Shuuhei's. His hilt hits the wood pane when he moves to block Kensei's next swipe and the endeavor is clumsy and only half effective. Shuuhei is cut on the cheek – shallow and mean. Shuuhei's next move has them both in the cold evening air where the space is open and conductive to Shuuhei's fighting style. But Shuuhei does not want to fight, really, and when the adrenaline which resulted in his automatic defense falls to the second slot behind thought process Shuuhei drops his weapon and gets a sort of sick pleasure of watching Kensei lunge for his heart, realize that he is not defending – flash of panic. Shuuhei smirks a smirk that is Kazeshini's. Kensei snaps his wrist up so quickly it audibly cracks and Shuuhei is hit with the full force of what that attack would have been in the form of a flat blade to the chest, it sends him stumbling back. He loses his footing and falls and does not stand again.

"Fuck!" shouts Kensei and drops his zanpaktuo … it's likely that his wrist is broken, thinks Shuuhei. "I could have killed you!" he yells louder, the full force of his glare on Shuuhei now, but Shuuhei is looking elsewhere.

"I know," he says, rubbing his chest; it hurts. It hurts a lot.

"Look at me, dammit," Kensei barks. His stride is long and powerful and radiates displeasure and disgust. He grabs Shuuhei by the front of his uniform and bodily hauls him off the ground. Shuuhei is just tall enough that he can look over Kensei's head, and he directs his line of sight there, watching the flurries of snow in a glassy hazed-over way. They fall on his nose; his hair is damp with them. His breath is white and airy and floats away against the lights flickering in the distance.

"I'm tired, Captain Muguruma," says Shuuhei evenly.

"Look at me," says Kensei again.

"I'm _tired_ ," says Shuuhei, "please let me go."

"What're you doing, Shuuhei?" Kensei demands. "What did he do to you?" Neither of them have said his name. _Tousen_ , thinks Shuuhei. _Tousen, Tousen, Tousen_. Tousen was good. Tousen was just. Tousen was mislead and in pain and righteous.

"Tousen," says Shuuhei.

" _Tousen was a dick_ ," says Kazeshini, " _and a pussyfooting pawn who died as worthless as he lived_."

Shuuhei's can't rip his soul apart, can't tear himself away from Kazeshini, but he wishes he could. He wishes he could fight him, mangle him, kill him … Kazeshini exists because of this. Tousen knew the value of distance.

Kensei drops him, there's a breath of space, and then Kensei punches him across the cheek with his good hand, the blood there, crusted by the cool air starts flowing again.

"Forget him," Kensei says, "it's better that way. For both of us."

"I won't," says Shuuhei.

"You owe it to our division to start moving on ... You owe it to me," Kensei growls. Shuuhei's lips twitch up in something that's not really a grin.

"I owe you a lot," he says, "but I know who I am."

* * *

 _Something quick; I think I'm probably going to give this another chapter... Because it's got room for Kensei's hollow ... And I like me some hollows. Feel free to review! In fact, I would really appreciate it!_


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